We'll Fly Home

Sean watched idly as the plum coloured liquid swirled down the drain, creating a rather eye catching display of patterns. Some of it remained, though, and a small pool of water collected at his feet. It made him feel like he was standing in blackcurrant squash, and that made the overall experience even worse. He detested blackcurrant squash.

Stepping out of the shower he reached blindly for the towel to wipe his eyes, then quickly tried to dry his hair. It proved pointless, time and time again. Water seemed to gather on even the tiniest of strands, and even if he dried it so vigorously that the towel was left a sopping mess, his hair would still hold enough water to possibly drown a whole village. Well, a village of ants perhaps. It was a lot of water, though!

He always gave up on it. It was simply too much effort, and he had far too much to do to be worrying about whether or not his hair was dry. Things like locating those blasted contacts. His eyes today were to be blue. He hated having blue eyes. They never really suited his face, and it made him feel uncomfortable, like someone was going to discover his secret any second. He preferred it when he was told they had to be brown. Brown eyes were the closest to his natural eye colour, which was sometimes a sort of burnt orange and sometimes a golden honey colour - depending on the light.

He checked his name for today. I say today, but he was never really sure how long he'd be assigned to the one job. Some lasted just days, while others could take as long as a few months. The last one was an average length of a month. His name then had been Carl Rodgers, an older looking man with auburn hair, and a matching moustache, which had taken quite some time to grow, and Sean had to say, he was proud of it. His name today, though, surprised him. Rather than a ridiculous, quickly generated name, he was to use his own name.

He got dressed quickly. Apparently he was now the sort of person to wear skinny jeans and band shirts. Not that he minded. That would be how he'd dress anyway, if he had the choice. There were only a few finishing touches he had to make, and he'd be ready.

He scrutinised his appearance in the mirror. He still had the facial fuzz from his time as Mr Rodgers and his teeth were just a shade too bright. He'd kept them unnaturally white for his last role, but he'd calculated earlier that he must be young - sixteen, seventeen maybe. No teenager keeps their teeth pristine. It's just unnatural. He'd spent weeks using nothing but one of those teeth whitening toothpastes, and now he was just going to spoil it all again. Things like that happened every time.

After the drawn out process of sorting out his teeth, Sean found his razor. Once again, he was going to destroy weeks of effort in a matter of minutes. You'd think they'd do the work for him, give him a whole new semblance, without him having to bother with anything. They didn't, though. He started off carefully, trimming the sides of his moustache into various styles. He always did that when he had the opportunity to grow facial hair. His favourite style was the Hitler 'tache, though. Come on, he was allowed to have a little fun with this.

He wondered where he was headed today. Hopefully there'd be someone fun to talk to. Occasionally - not often, but sometimes - he'd be stuck with someone incredibly boring and forced to pretend to like them. Then again, sometimes he'd be put with some amazing people, and it hurt him to leave.

He put the finishing touches onto his new look and admired himself in the mirror. He honestly thought he looked pretty good. Convincing at least, he hoped. He'd be fucked if someone noticed even any little thing. And so the whole cycle began again.